Love, Youth, and Glory
by whitereflections12
Summary: meh, I hate the title.  Anyway, a short oneshot with Achilles thoughts and Patroclus and youthful idylls of war, his concern and love for Patroclus, etc.  slashy if you squint, but it was written as a strong friendship piece.  let me know what you think!


Seeing Troy made me fall in love with Brad Pitt's characterization of Achilles, and, by default, Achilles himself. Before I even watched it, I knew I would love him based on remarks from friends of "How much do you know about Achilles? You two would have gotten along great…." lol I agree with his philosophies, and the journey my life has taken has sort of followed that same path, from anger to realizing that those you love matter most…and I can indentify with his relationship with Patroclus most of all. Which is what this is about.

Slashy if you squint, but I didn't write it that way. Just a very, very strong friendship love piece. Because I love the two of them, and particularly Achilles love for him. 3

I don't own Troy, or the Illiad. Shame, shame.

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_I cannot fight the Trojans if I am concerned for you. Guard the ship._

He had whispered it to him, pulled in close against his chest. He had wanted, partially, to keep it between the two of them but it was more than that. He had wanted, most of all, to portray his severity and sincerity. He loved him. He loved him more than life, and he wished to all the Gods he hadn't even let him come on this voyage.

Achilles leaned back against a tent pole, watching Patroclus sleep. The moon was just barely illuminating him, his breathing steady. He looked so pale, so young. Far too young for this. War was for men, hardened and bitter. Wars like this were for men who had nothing left to lose and only glory to gain. Patroclus…he had a whole life yet unlived. He had never even traveled until now. As far as Achilles knew, he had never been in love. That was an experience no man should miss, though he somehow strangely had. Oh he had thought he had felt it before, as a young man, but even that hadn't been real, not in the way he knew some had found it. Odysseus. He had found it. Achilles had always been just a little bit jealous of that, but It had never mattered in a practical way. He had women. He had plenty. And he had the battle, the brilliant dance that was the taking of life.

It was more than that, for him. More than killing. It was an art form, something he reveled in. There was nothing better in the world than the feeling of victory, of standing tall over a field of slain enemies. War might not be a game but that didn't rule enjoyment out of it. He fought for the joy of it. It wasn't that he loved the killing, he loved the fighting. The loss of life was strangely disconnected, for him. It just…was. He had been born to be a warrior. It was in his very blood, his every fiber. This was his life, his soul. He could be no other, could do no other. Patroclus….he could be anything, yet. He was smart. He could be so much more, have so much more.

Reaching over, Achilles brushed a strand of golden hair away from his eyes. He was so, so very young. He could have a family…be a good father, a grandfather…live a full life…

His mother had told him he would never return from Troy. And, when it came down to it, that was part of the reason he had not fought harder against Patruclus coming. It was stupid. It was selfish. But he had thought that if he was going to die, he would rather do it with his best friend at his side. Somewhere where his beloved cousin could hold him, could lay the coins over his eyes for the Boatman. If he was going to die, at least they would be together. Now that he was here, now that he was facing the reality…it had been a foolish, hasty, and above all such a selfish decision. If he died…. "It would be my fault." His whisper sounded loud and accusatory in the silence of the tent. It was true, too true. He had to keep him safe. No matter the cost. Even if that cost was a fraying of their relationship.

He smirked, trailed his fingers over the back of his cousins' hand. It seemed Patroclus had the same bloodlust he had, the same desire to fight. With, perhaps, a good deal more patriotism. Be that as it may, he did not yet know about war. It was beautiful to Achilles, certainly, but it was not beautiful in the way young boys thought it was. They didn't know how it felt to feel blood run over your hands, to watch men choke in blood, their clothes soaked in blood, so much of it everywhere you thought you'd never seen so much red in your life. They didn't know the smell of a battlefield, blood and rotting flesh and relieved waste and charred skin. They didn't know how it felt to watch crows pick apart a body, the way the skin tore away in their beaks, the sound it made when they ripped an eyeball from its socket. In was sickening and disheartening and thoroughly terrible, all those things among the realization that you had taken life, life like your own. Boys did not realize these things. Patroclus, for all his practice and bravery and patriotism, did not realize these things. And, at the moment, Achilles didn't want him to ever have to. Not for a few more years, at least, and never on this scale.

He hadn't realized his hand was still tracing his cousin's, was not suspecting Patroclus to wake when he did. "Achilles? Is something wrong?"

His head snapped up, worried eyes clearing in the time it took for him to give a reassuring smile. "No. Couldn't sleep."

"Is it something that happened today?"

It was, a little. His worries for Patroclus were foremost, certainly. His anger at the way Agamemnon had taken the girl...yes, that was part of it too. "A lot of things on my mind. Nothing you need to hear tonight." If possible he looked even younger now, sleepy and attentive all at once. Achilles leaned over him, cupped his face and kissed his forehead. "Go back to sleep. I'm sorry I woke you."

"No, it's fine, are you sure-"

"I'm alright. Go back to sleep." As much as he wanted to continue watching him, he knew if he didn't move Patroclus would never close his eyes. "We all need our rest." He seemed to fall for that, let his eyes drift shut. At the door of the tent Achilles looked back, memorized his sleeping form. They would not fight tomorrow, maybe not even the day after that. If his attitude toward the Greeks did not improve, they may even go home. Damn his glory and save his cousin. Let his stories be told on through his family. He knew Patroclus would tell tales of him to his children. Maybe…maybe it would be enough. Maybe it would be more than enough. Maybe.

He slid outside, easing the folds back into place behind him to keep out as much light as possible. The moon was beginning to fall in the sky. Morning would be coming. He would make no decisions yet. It was time to watch the pieces play and see where they would fall…

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This ended up taking a little bit of a direction than I had originally planned, but my thoughts just kinda took over. Hm. Anyway, hope you enjoyed it. let me know…


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